


His Lord's Prisoner

by Caia (Caius)



Category: Transformers G1
Genre: BDSM, Community: springkink, M/M, Medical Kink, Plug and Play, Prisoner Sex, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/pseuds/Caia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus did something extremely ill-advised. Galvatron was in a playful mood. And now Cyclonus has a job to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Lord's Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/advertisments: Robot porn: tactile, energy field, plug-and-play. Heavy BDSM. Possible medical fetish. Sexual content that is consensual but extremely ill-advised; references to non-con.  
> A/N: Written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/springkink/profile)[**springkink**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/springkink/), prompt: _Transformers (G1), Cyclonus/Rodimus Prime - tempting captive: "Don't you take anything for yourself?"_  
> Thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/dreams_of_all/profile)[**dreams_of_all**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/dreams_of_all/) for beta.

When Cyclonus walked in, Rodimus was sprawled face-down on the berth in the small cell, looking thoroughly debauched. Or, perhaps, thoroughly tortured; the line had been crossed several times during the previous cycle's activities. Although covered in dents and scratches and bites and other small injuries, the Prime appeared more sated than distressed.

There were a few noticeable disturbances in his energy fields, particularly where parts of his plating had been outright torn off, but the Prime seemed calmer than when he had first showed up, alone and firing wildly at the Decepticon forces as though he wanted to be either caught or killed.

It should by rights have gotten him killed. However, he had resisted or evaded the Decepticons' firepower long enough for Lord Galvatron to grab him. And Lord Galvatron had been in a playful mood--or had switched into one, noting Rodimus' peculiar behavior or the odd tingle in his energy fields when they grappled. Lord Galvatron was sometimes more perceptive than anyone else suspected.

When Rodimus had taken back to the base, he had only put up a token weary protest before giving himself eagerly to Cyclonus' whip and Lord Galvatron's rough touches, begging for more rather than offering foolish defiance.

Cyclonus did not understand Rodimus' behavior. Perhaps at some point he would; it would be useful to understand the weaknesses of the Autobot Prime, particularly if he escaped or was rescued. His more immediate problem, however, was Rodimus' physical state.

Rodimus looked over as Cyclonus crossed the room and settled on the berth with his tools. "Cyclonus..." he said. "Preparing me for more of Galvatron's fun?"

"Of course." Cyclonus straddled Rodimus' leg and started patched up a tear in his thigh-armor. Not the worst of it, but he had to start somewhere. Rodimus twitched under his touch, his field flaring in arousal. "It will go more easily if you are still."

"What if I don't want it easy?" Rodimus' field twitched impatiently, but he stopped moving.

"Then don't." Cyclonus moved further up onto Rodimus' hips, assessing the damage to his back. Rodimus' spoiler was only barely attached, and all of it was badly bitten and warped and torn. While the spoiler was non-vital for Rodimus' functioning, it was an extremely sensitive and attractive feature, important for his Lord's pleasure.

Rodimus moaned, slightly, as Cyclonus twisted and welded the pieces back together, field pricking up a little, but not truly covering most of the spoiler itself.

When he started reattaching it, however--Rodimus writhed and half-screamed, energy flashing around Cyclonus' fingers as they worked on the sensitive connections in the center of Rodimus' back. "....please!"

Cyclonus shook his head. "Do your Autobots never give you what you need, that you beg for it from your enemies?" In the previous session there had not been time to ask these questions. Galvatron had been there, so it was not important what the Prime wanted, or, rather, _why_ he wanted it: it would be given to him anyway, and certainly Cyclonus could understand enjoying Galvatron's rough touches.

Rodimus laughed, sadly, then moaned as Cyclonus reattached another wire. "...would _you_ do to your Lord what you and Galvatron do for me?"

Cyclonus paused at that. Galvatron had never...wanted _this_ sort of service from him before, and the thought was at once terrifying and terribly erotic. "Of course. If he needed it."

"...Of course you would. Well, none of the Autobots are _you_. They don't have the confidence in me, and they won't hurt me like this, either."

"Next time I see your second, I will have _words_ with him, then." Cyclonus was, as always, completely serious. Ultra Magnus was an Autobot he respected; he should be performing his duties by his Prime. Cyclonus pulled a wire tight as he located its match.

"No, no, don't bother!" Rodimus flinched back a little, out of time with Cyclonus' touch, his field prickling in embarrassment. Cyclonus supposed that he did not like to hear Magnus criticized by the enemy. "I mean...it's not like you want me to _stop_ letting Galvatron do these things to me, do you?"

"'Let', indeed, Prime." Cyclonus continued his work.

Rodimus didn't bother arguing that, but he didn't stop moving or making noise, either. Cyclonus had Rodimus' hips braced between his thighs, but there was only so far he could restrain the Prime and continue the delicate and finicky repair job--a job he had to do right, for a loss of sensation in the spoiler would be deeply unfortunate. Every new connection Cyclonus made was greeted by either a moan, a whine, a pained-engine noise, a field-flare--and usually by Rodimus attempting to either press up against Cyclonus' hands or pull away from them. At least he wasn't whining, like Scourge would be if Cyclonus were working on _his_ wings. "Stay still or I chain you."

Rodimus _gasped_. Wrong suggestion, perhaps, the longing pulsed his field, flowing against Cyclonus' hips and hands. "Would you like me in chains?"

"I would like you to stay still so I can complete your repairs." Cyclonus tugged a wire particularly fiercely, deliberately causing pain to his prisoner.

Rodimus just moaned and pressed back harder. "Cyclonus." The tone was an entirely inappropriate one for a prisoner under Cyclonus' hands. "If you're just _repairing_ me, why don't you put me offline? Or leave me to the Constructicons? Or not, you know, sit on top of me in a berth? You must be getting something out of this."

"Your injuries are not beyond my skill, nor are they more than you should be able to endure having fixed while online." Cyclonus had repaired worse on himself since the second day he'd been online; any injury he wouldn't have been able to reach on himself, he'd fixed on Scourge.

And most all of them on Galvatron himself. Who wouldn't stay still, either, but that was his prerogative.

The Decepticon army had medical specialists, but anything mostly cosmetic--like Rodimus' damage; Galvatron had been playing, not fighting--was the responsibility of the Decepticon himself, or those close to him. Autobots, apparently, handled things differently, but Rodimus was with them now.

And still moving, and probably about to express some delicate Autobot sentiment. "Stay _still_, Prime, and be quiet." Cyclonus jabbed him with his tool in a part of the repairs that would be painful, but not damaging.

Rodimus let out a small scream. "Do you want me to hurt for you?"

Cyclonus snorted. "You've _experienced_ what it is like when I want you to hurt. If that is Lord Galvatron's will, you will experience it again. For now, he wants you repaired."

"All about what Galvatron wants. Of course. What did I expect." Rodimus let himself fall a little further down onto his still-damaged chestplates, away from Cyclonus' touch, and lay still for a moment.

"I am here to serve Lord Galvatron. So are you." Cyclonus finished the junction between Rodimus' back plating and his spoiler. "I need to test the sensory connections. You may express yourself now."

"Kinky--oh..." Cyclonus was moving his hand, slowly, gently, and clinically, over every piece of Rodimus' spoiler, testing the reaction in Rodimus' field, and yes, also in the rest of his body. Rodimus _writhed_. Cyclonus gripped his shoulder firmly; in Rodimus' weakened state, he could hold Rodimus' top half down relatively easily.

Rodimus' field _pulsed_ when he was restrained, perhaps even more here than when he had been chained in Megatron's throne room and Cyclonus had been working him over with the whip. "Cyclonus. _Please_."

"Is there anywhere you cannot feel my touch?"

"...no. But are you sure you don't want to keep testing?"

Cyclonus lifted his hand away. Rodimus moaned unhappily and tried to press up towards him, but his arms were not working well enough yet. "Good."

Cyclonus went back to work, smoothing out the rest of the dents in the spoiler, as Rodimus continued to shift under his hands, Cyclonus' fingers buried deep in Rodimus' pulsing field. "Galvatron will want you to keep the bite marks for now." Absently, Cyclonus ran a finger over one, tracing the marks his Lord had left on his Prime--his field pulsed a bit himself as he recalled, vividly, the press of Galvatron's dental plates on his own wings and antennae, denting and tearing and bringing Cyclonus to ecstasy.

But Cyclonus only allowed himself to indulge in memory for a moment. He pulled back from Rodimus' spoiler.

Rodimus _whined_ and tried to lift himself once again into Cyclonus' touch. "C'mon, Cyclonus, finish what you started..."

"Your spoiler is finished." Cyclonus pulled off and back, so he was next to Rodimus rather than straddling him. The rest of Rodimus' back was in one piece; Cyclonus could touch up the paint and fix minor dents, if necessary, later. "I'm going to turn you over now."

Turning Rodimus over required touching a number of small injuries--most of them minor--and it was unsurprising that Rodimus' field pulsed into Cyclonus' touch as he whimpered and tried to press against him. After gently picking Rodimus up and laying him on his newly-repaired spoiler, Cyclonus turned his attention to the damaged chestplates.

They had been torn rather badly; Galvatron had not waited to see if his Prime could be coaxed into opening up of his own accord. Nothing life-threatening--Galvatron had stopped at the inner casing that protected Rodimus' spark and the Matrix. He had been more playful than violent, intrigued and amused and aroused by Rodimus' strange willingness to be his plaything.

Facing the casing head-on and reaching into Rodimus' chest, Cyclonus shuddered to be this close to the Matrix, whose power had driven Scourge mad, and tormented Galvatron with visions. Cyclonus could not, quite, hate the Matrix--it had freed Galvatron from Unicron's hold--but he was a Decepticon, spawn of Unicron himself; he was under no illusions about what the Matrix would do to him should he try to claim its power for his own.

Claim it, that is, through any other means than claiming the Autobot beneath him; which, for the time being, at least, Galvatron had. How long they could keep Galvatron's surprisingly-less-than-unwilling prisoner, Cyclonus did not know; it would not be forever, but he would make sure his Lord enjoyed him while they did.

The previous cycle Cyclonus had stood back, watching and waiting, while Galvatron had torn the Prime half-open and claimed him. Rodimus was not Cyclonus' to take, but it was Cyclonus' duty and pleasure to watch, in case something horrible happened to his Lord and Master.

The memory heated Cyclonus' own systems a bit, but he did not let himself be distracted. He reached in and continued piecing together the plating and circuitry so that Rodimus' self-repair could take care of the damage more quickly.

Working so close to Rodimus' spark, however, was as much of a problem for the already-aroused Autobot as working with his spoiler had been. Rodimus would not stop wriggling. Or be quiet, either. Cyclonus considered. He could simply hold him down and ride it out--he'd done so with Scourge often enough--but if Cyclonus slipped and damaged something he shouldn't have, it could be dangerous for Rodimus. Or for Cyclonus himself, if the Matrix got involved, or if the Prime were less pliant than he seemed. "All right. Chain time."

"Mmmm...thought you'd never ask. Or order, I guess..." Rodimus lay still, for once, as Cyclonus pulled the restraints out of his subspace and placed the shackles around around Rodimus' arms and legs, attaching him firmly to the berth. For good measure, he wrapped chains around Rodimus' hips and shoulders as well--if he was going to do this, he might as well do it right.

Rodimus endured it quietly, but his vents ran and his field pulsed high the whole time, spiking higher when Cyclonus touched him. But it was ignorable.

With the chains attached, Rodimus continued to make small sounds of pleasure, and his energy field still lapped hungrily at Cyclonus' fingers, but he was restrained from moving. When Cyclonus removed his hands, ready to start repairing Rodimus' outer armor, Rodimus said, "Please..."

"You're not in a position to make demands," Cyclonus said, straddling the Prime again and returning to his repair job.

"I'm not demanding. I'm _begging_. C'mon, Cyclonus, even you can't feel _nothing_, having an Autobot under you, open and begging for it..."

"It's not mine to take, Rodimus. Stay still." Cyclonus twisted the pieces back back into place so they could be welded together.

Rodimus gasped at the firm twist. "I'm your _prisoner_, Cyclonus. Any other Decepticon would take advantage."

"And that," Cyclonus twisted another piece of plating together. "Is why no other Decepticon is touching you." By Cyclonus' decree, not Galvatron's; it was Cyclonus' job to protect his Lord's interests.

Rodimus squinted up at him. "You were happy enough to take advantage of me yesterday. You were very, very good at it, too. I can still feel your electro-whip on my aft..."

"I'll take care of that later." Cyclonus' energy fields were starting to pulse into Rodimus' chestplates, however, and a few of his touches were less than professional.

Rodimus grinned. "Gonna whip me again?"

"When Galvatron orders it. Not before. Now, you are being repaired." Cyclonus welded the chest armor back together over the middle, and Rodimus gasped at the intense heat right over his spark.

With the chestplates together, Rodimus' chest was covered. He considered whether or not to bother repairing the mechanism by which Rodimus' chest was supposed to open, but decided it was not a priority; Galvatron wasn't likely to bother with it next time, either.

Cyclonus drew back and allowed himself a second to appreciate his Lord's handiwork and his own. The paint was scraped everywhere, scored with fingers and the electro-whip; the yellow and orange smeared with blue-purple, and the subtly different orange of Lord Galvatron's cannon.

The Autobot insignia was cleft in two by the scar where his chestplates had been torn open.

It was beautiful.

Cyclonus had brought paints, but Rodimus' current paint job could hardly be improved. Before he caught himself, he was tracing over the purple streaks and Rodimus was giving him a...relaxed? satisfied?...smile and pushing up into his touch.

"_Now_ you want me."

"Prime." Cyclonus pulled his hand away. "You are not for _me_."

"Right, right, you're fixing me all up for your lord, I _know_ that. Don't you take anything for yourself?"

And suddenly Rodimus found himself trying to draw back, as Cyclonus' eyes flashed angrily and he pulled back and up and _away_ from Rodimus. "_Nothing_ is my own, Rodimus Prime. Least of all _you_."

"Cyclonus..." Rodimus sounded almost pitying, the _Autobot_. "I don't _have_ to be. I'll still be here for Galvatron if you take your pleasure from me."

"It is my _pleasure_, Autobot, to serve my Lord." Cyclonus turned away for a second, before pulling out a jar of polish, a can of sealant, and an assortment of rags. He looked critically at the Autobot beneath him--he would have to work on the limbs later, perhaps one at a time if Rodimus would not lie still. But the chestplates...

...Galvatron almost _never_ forced Cyclonus open like that. Even if it was not Cyclonus himself who initiated, he always melted so easily in his Lord's arms that--although certainly Lord Galvatron had inflicted enough damage on him outside of interfacing--there were seldom more than the usual scrapes and dents and bite-marks from when they interfaced. Their energy fields merged together easily, as Cyclonus allowed himself to be lost within his Lord...

...nothing like it had been with the Prime. The fireworks as Galvatron joined himself with Rodimus--tortured for hours with pain and pleasure, cleft apart, producing not only his own energy but the Matrix's as well...

Cyclonus has been on the other end of the throne room, having drawn back once Rodimus was warmed up, allowing his Lord his Prime. He had overloaded at the sight.

But this was not a time for memory. This was time to prepare for a repeat performance.

He sprayed Rodimus' chest with the sealant. Rodimus stared at him. "Wait, you're going to keep me like this?"

"It is an improvement on your normal color scheme." Cyclonus waited for a minute for it to dry, then took out the wax. On himself, Cyclonus would have regretfully rubbed out the paint from Galvatron and restored his own paint job; as much as he enjoyed wearing the signs of his Lord's touch and favor, he was Galvatron's lieutenant, not his pet or lover or enemy, and he needed to present himself accordingly.

On Rodimus, however, he could highlight every mark. From his Lord and for his Lord.

Rodimus gave a low rumble as Cyclonus started applying the wax over his chestplates, methodically rubbing in circles, outlining every inch. "Tease."

"You have no patience, Prime."

Rodimus sighed. "Yes. That's what they say."

Cyclonus gave him a quizzical look. Rodimus looked...guilty? He gave a mental shrug and kept going. Rodimus' guilt was not Cyclonus' problem, even if something in his processor exclaimed that this was _wrong_, Rodimus was the _Prime_, he was not supposed to be feeling guilt.

Rodimus' plating was the job at hand, not his processor malfunctions.

By the time Cyclonus had finished with Rodimus' chestplates, the guilty look had mostly left Rodimus' faceplates, replaced once again with frustrated pleasure. It was a decided improvement. Rodimus would be well-prepared for the session with Galvatron, at this rate. Cyclonus could feel Rodimus heating up under his hands; the wax melted as it was applied, and the spark-energy was almost strong enough that he couldn't feel the Matrix at all.

...Cyclonus' spark was starting to reach out as well, and he could feel his hands moving over Rodimus' chest in ways that were not, strictly, necessary.

Rodimus smiled. "See? You _do_ have needs. And you can fill them, too. I'm here. For you, as well as your Lord."

Cyclonus stared down at Rodimus. He knew, of course, that an Autobot Prime was a very different thing from a leader of the Decepticons, but this was just bizarre. "Rodimus. If you want me, than ask. Demand. Beg, even. You are the _leader_. Do not pretend you are doing it for my benefit."

Rodimus flinched back as though he had been struck--or not, rather, because Cyclonus had struck him many times the previous evening, and Rodimus had responded with less unadulterated distress. "I come here, and even my _enemies_ lecture me about my leadership skills. I am _chained to the berth_, Cyclonus. _Take me._"

...and at the tone that was suddenly in Rodimus' voice, Cyclonus partially disconnected the chains, flipped him over, and settled him down again so that his chestplates were suspended a few feet above the ground, his head and hips resting on the chains. "I just fixed you up. I do not wish to repeat my work. Stay where I put you."

Rodimus moaned happily. "Yes, sir."

Cyclonus ran his hand over Rodimus spoiler, from one wing to the other, and then down the center, assessing the territory, listening to Rodimus' sounds, lingering on the bite marks. If he was going to use Rodimus the way the Prime wanted, he might as well start at Galvatron's marks. He pressed his body down against Rodimus' back--resting most of his weight on the chain-supported aft--and started licking one bite mark after another. Each sign of Galvatron's presence inflamed him even further, and he could feel the Prime under him responding as well.

His energy field cracked against Rodimus', the interaction between a Prime's field and a Unicronian's giving an edge of pain to the pleasure. Their fields were at battle with one another, even if Cyclonus was, for the moment, gentle.

He held one end of the spoiler in each hand, licking up and down the center piece. In this position, he could rub his antennae casually against the wings, each contact _sparking_ between spoiler and antenna, pleasure and pain and desire.

"_Harder_," Rodimus demanded. "Please."

"No." Cyclonus' voice rumbled through his whole body, matched by the low sound of his engine. "You are not mine to mark."

"The...oh!...electrowhip marks on my aft...ahhhhhhha...say differently."

Cyclonus pressed his hips up against the marks. "I made those for _Galvatron_, Rodimus. You remember how avidly he watched you." Cyclonus remembered it too, and moved back a little, pressing his hands over Rodimus' lower back and aft and hips, running his hands over the marks.

He would be removing those, soon.

He bent down to lick them, antennae pressing against the bottom of the spoiler this time.

"Oooh!" This part of Rodimus was more firmly restrained; a number of the marks were occluded by the chains. Rodimus could barely move against Cyclonus' face. "Give me more marks?"

A shiver went through Cyclonus' field at the thought. However: "...no. Not here. You will wait." He continued to lick and stroke, moving the chains up and down to get better access.

Rodimus shivered, his field prickling in frustration. "Please! Take me. _Use me._"

The Prime beneath him was...enticing. Deeply enticing. And there were already streaks of his own purple, next to Galvatron's marks, next to the metallic scrapes of the whip, marring the dark magenta of his aft, the pink of his waist, the orange of his back, and the bright yellow the of spoiler.

...and there was very probably orange and yellow on his antennae, too, he'd been rubbing them against Rodimus' spoiler enough, and they tingled at the thought.

"...very well then. If it will make you more agreeable."

Rodimus' field _flared_ and his engine rumbled. "Do it for _yourself_, Cyclonus. Please. I want to give _you_ pleasure. "

Cyclonus shook his head. Autobots were strange creatures. "I can assure you that I will enjoy this. Open your interface panel." Galvatron hadn't used it the previous night--it was never his preferred way of interfacing, too finicky and both less and more intimate than he wanted. Cyclonus used it more often with his other partners, both willing and unwilling.

Rodimus moaned, and two panels popped open, one on each side of his waist. He ran his fingers over them--data output cable and input port on the left, energy output and input on the right. Energy pulsed under his fingers as he touched the connection points--clearly Rodimus was more than ready.

He opened a panel on his right hip and connected his energy output to Rodimus' input, and started pulsing into him. Like this, his energy flow could give the Prime pleasure--and pain--but would not damage him.

Rodimus' energy field sparkled with the additional pulse from Cyclonus, and he squealed and writhed as the energy flowed into him. His output cord sparkled, lacking a port to connect to, sliding between them and giving both Cyclonus and Rodimus pleasant little shocks as Rodimus' energy field heated up even further.

Cyclonus pressed his head down into the middle of Rodimus' spoiler, licking each little mark and rubbing his antennae against the wings. It was like dipping his head into a maelstrom of energy as he pulsed harder into the Prime, Rodimus' energy fields retaliating as fiercely as they could, pulsing into Cyclonus' antennae almost as though they were interface cables.

"Cyclonus....!" Rodimus cried out. "More."

Cyclonus pulsed harder, obligingly, almost-but-not-quite twisting the ends of Rodimus' spoilers in his hands as he pressed their bodies together.

Rodimus fought against the chains, making them clank against his plating and Cyclonus', catching and carrying the charge between their bodies. "Please...the other cable."

Cyclonus caught Rodimus' energy output cable in his hand, half-completing the circuit and making Rodimus scream and Cyclonus' engines rumble. He reached down to place it in his own energy input port, but Rodimus, beneath him, said "No. The _other_ cable. I want you to feel me--take my pleasure--please--"

Cyclonus drew back in shock--he almost _never_ used those ports for interfacing; they were for data-swap and interrogation. Having a prisoner beg him to use them...he suspected a trap.

But Cyclonus' data ports were very well protected, and with the Autobot Prime chained beneath him, energy field thick with their mingled energies, calling _Cyclonus'_ name of all names--he wanted to know. He opened his own panel and connected Rodimus' data output cable to his input port.

Even with Cyclonus' shielding, the result was...dizzying. He was used to prying secrets out of prisoners in various states of terror, agony, and defiance; he'd never been greeted with waves of pleasure before. Galvatron had used this connection on him, once, but only in the other direction; it was not Cyclonus' privilege to look into Galvatron's processor.

With Rodimus--he could feel, somewhere, the standard shielding on a mech's meta-processor functions and memories, but it was covered in waves of pleasure, pulsing out in time with Cyclonus' touch and the pulse of their energy fields. Cyclonus...didn't even know the sound he was making, as he pulsed harder into the feedback loop, and Rodimus' spoiler bent in his grasp.

It was almost enough. Cyclonus could feel Rodimus close to overload beneath him, and he could no doubt ride Rodimus' pleasure to his own--but if he was going to be doing this--"Show me what you felt before. With Galvatron."

"Always Galvatron. Still." Rodimus said, and there was an unpleasant wave of pity in their connection. That was _not_ acceptable. Cyclonus held back his next pulse, leaving Rodimus gasping painfully under him.

And then Cyclonus forgot all that as Rodimus yielded to his request and Cyclonus felt what it had been like for Rodimus, under Cyclonus' whips and in Galvatron's arms, torn and bitten and...there was something else, there, a relief from his duties, a satisfaction in being firmly bound so that he could not escape, a sense that he was finally doing something _right_ in the world, even if it was pleasing his enemies...but Cyclonus didn't truly care, as he took Rodimus' experience with his Lord into himself.

Cyclonus had been there himself, experiencing agony and ecstasy at Galvatron's touch, but it had never been quite enough, never _could_ be enough, the days when Galvatron was in the right mood were too few and Cyclonus' other duties too demanding.

Cyclonus overloaded on top of Rodimus, his teeth, just once, digging into Rodimus' spoiler, his overloaded energy pouring through the interface cable and through their energy fields. "....Mighty One," he groaned, softly, into Rodimus' spoiler, which was, for a second, Galvatron's crown.

Rodimus overloaded with an incoherent cry, unable to do otherwise under Cyclonus' massive influx of energy. According to the data connection, he was fully enjoying it, the pain from the onslaught of incompatible energy as well as the overwhelming pleasure.

They lay there for half a breem, too drained to do anything else. Cyclonus, however, had his duties. He pulled back, carefully disconnected them, and eyed Rodimus' back. He was unsure whether or not Galvatron would mind the signs of their pleasure on his prisoner; normally Lord Galvatron cared very little who Cyclonus interfaced with, as long as he was always available for Galvatron's needs, whatever they were, but this was, obviously, a unique situation. As always, Galvatron would respond as he responded, and Cyclonus would take whatever punishment his Lord chose to give. But his--self-appointed--task was to repair and clean and polish the Prime, and he would finish it.

Rodimus stirred, finally, at the reduced pressure on his rear plating. He made a small, happy, sated sound. "Finally I find out what you wanted. And it's all yours."

Autobots. Cyclonus had seen, somewhere in there, why it was that Rodimus wanted from Cyclonus what he did, but it had been fleeting and not something he was equipped to understand. "Never, Rodimus Prime. I am Galvatron's, as is everything I posses. But I enjoyed your memory of being his, nonetheless. Thank you, Autobot, for that."

Rodimus gave a tired little laugh. "It's a start."


End file.
